


11:20

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys take a shortcut down a lonely country road not even on the map and find themselves out of time. Post 2x18 "Hollywood Babylon"</p>
            </blockquote>





	11:20

**Author's Note:**

> This story is un-beta'd by the lovely JaniceC678. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P

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Sam groaned and rolled his eyes as Dean reached out and turned the volume on the radio up higher, blasting Metallica through the car. He smirked as his brother attempted to sing along and managed to hit every note off key. "Dude, you're awful."

"Shut up, Sammy!" Dean yelled over the music and nodded his head in time with the beat, drumming his hands on the wheel.

"You know we'd get to Fayettsville a lot faster if you take I-86," Sam told him for the third time and mouthed along as Dean, again, replied with 'short cut'. He shook his head. "We could be there already! This road's not even on the map."

Dean glanced over at his little brother with a grin, raised his brows and looked back to the road as they passed a sign welcoming them to Bloomwood, population three hundred. "Trust me." He picked the song back up, enjoying the level of frustration he was causing Sam. If he was irritated at his big brother, he wasn't wallowing in guilt over Madison and that was a fair trade for Dean. Sam was doing less and less of that lately for which he was grateful but he still had moments when Dean would catch him staring out the window with a look of ineffable sadness and guilt on his face. He wondered if Sam would ever be able to completely forgive himself for her death.

The comforting rumble of the Impala's engine stuttered and Dean stared down at the dash in surprise. It stuttered again, the whole car jerking as the motor began to knock and then died completely. "What the hell's going on?" Dean shouted as the radio died and they rolled to a stop on the side of the road.

"Did…did the car just die?" Sam asked in complete confusion. Dean cared for his car like mothers cared for their children and this...this was unheard of.

"No she did not just die!" Dean put a hand on the dash. "Tell me you didn't just die, Baby."

Sam chuckled as Dean popped the hood and climbed hastily out. "Sometimes I wonder what you do with this car when you're alone."

Dean dove under the hood and spent twenty minutes checking everything he could think of, having Sam periodically try turning the engine over and in the end stood over it with both hands on his head; defeated. "There's nothing wrong with her. I don't get it."

Sam stood beside him and looked down at the engine. He teased his brother but the Impala was just as much his home. He'd been practically raised in her back seat and it disturbed him that it wouldn't run now. It had never failed them before. He glanced at his watch and sighed. "It's 11:20. Sign back there said it was only two miles into town. We should get walking."

Dean dropped the hood back down and stayed, staring at it while Sam went to the trunk and grabbed their bags. He took his duffel when Sam came back and growled. "This doesn't make any damn sense."

"Come on." Sam gave him a nudge, hitching the weapons bag up on his shoulder with his duffel and turned Dean around. "We need to get walking. We'll get her towed in to town."

Dean couldn't help but smirk. "You called her a 'her'."

"Did not," Sam protested as his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Did too."

"Shut up."

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"How the hell…do we walk two miles…" Dean stopped as they reached the edge of the town of Bloomwood and bent with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "…and not see one damn car?"

Sam would have chuckled if he'd had the energy but he was just as winded. The sun had beat down on them the entire time and only then as they reached the town did clouds finally succeed in obscuring it and give them some relief. "Guess Tuesdays around here are quieter than most towns."

"Understatement," Dean said and straightened and started walking into town. "Huh."

"What?" Sam glanced into the town square and thought it looked like nice, peaceful village. It was small, just the buildings surrounding the square and town hall with its white-washed clock tower. Cars lined the streets while people walked or rode bikes…he frowned. "They're all walking in the road."

"No cars moving." Dean looked behind them and then around again, his sense of 'wrong' beginning to ring loudly in his ears. He saw a café on the corner and nodded. "Come on. Maybe someone can tell us what's up with weird town."

Sam followed him up onto the sidewalk, watching the cyclists and walkers and trying to decide what it was that felt so wrong. He glanced down at his watch and froze with one foot up on the step. "Dean." He grabbed his brother's arm and jerked around to look up at the clock tower. The ornate, black hands of the massive clock proclaimed it to be eleven twenty. It had been at least two hours since they left the Impala on the side of the road…at eleven twenty.

"What?" Dean looked at his brother and then gave him his full attention as something very like fear began to move across his face. "Sammy?"

"Check your watch." Sam looked back at him intently. "What time is it? Check."

Dean looked down at his watch and shrugged. "It's eleven twen…what the hell?"

Sam darted out into the street and grabbed a man as he walked past. "Excuse me. Sorry." He smiled. "Can you tell me what time it is?"

The man stared at him and then sighed. "Eleven twenty, son. It's eleven twenty." His voice was tired and heavy with resignation as he pulled his arm free of Sam's grip and kept walking.

"Did all the damn clocks stop or something?" Dean asked and stared at Sam, his face mirroring his brother's confusion, he was sure.

"This can't be good." Sam looked down at his watch again, willing it to show a different time, but it didn't.

"This day is really starting to piss me off." Dean turned and opened the door to the café. "Maybe someone can tell us what's going on around here." The café wasn't as busy as he thought it should be this time of day. There were only a half dozen people inside scattered around the tables, a waitress moving back and forth and an elderly man with a shock of white hair behind the counter. The man groaned as Dean watched and shook his head, staring at them.

"I'm guessing you two boys have questions." The man said as they reached the counter.

"What is up with this town?" Dean felt no need to pretend they hadn't noticed something odd, not with the man's reaction to them.

"More than you're gonna want to know. I'm Hal. Follow me." Hal rubbed a hand over his face and came out from behind the counter to lead the boys to the back of the dining room.

Sam felt his skin crawl as the few people inside all stopped to stare; forks were halfway to mouths, conversations ended mid-word to watch them pass and each face looked…sad. "I'd really like to leave this town now," He said softly.

Dean nodded. "You and me both." He waited for Hal to sit at a table and then slid into a chair across from him with Sam sitting at his side.

"It's usually me that has to explain the facts of life to newcomers." Hal sighed. "Never gets any easier."

"Facts of life?" Sam felt uncomfortable with his back to the room and knew Dean did as well from the way his shoulders tensed. "We just need someone to tow our car into town so we can fix it and get out of here."

"Yeah." Hal smiled oddly at Sam. "That's not going to happen."

"Excuse me?" Dean slipped a hand to his back and the gun there. "Are you threatening us?"

"What? No! Of course not." Hal raised both his hands where they could see them. "I just meant that leaving is going to be…well…impossible."

"It has something to do with the time, doesn't it?" Sam asked and held out his watch, then nodded to the clock tower visible through the wide window.

Hal nodded. "Yes. It's always eleven twenty here. Has been for…well, about a decade now I think. Time never moves and no one can leave. I know you boys are gonna have a hard time believing this but you'll get used to it."

"Wait. Wait." Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair and stared hard at the man. "Ten years? Are you kidding me? No one's left this place in ten damn years?" He looked over to Sam and then back to Hal. "Bullshit, Hal. No way a whole town full of people suddenly stops contacting their loved ones and no one notices or sends help."

"People do wander in here from time to time. It's rare." Hal nodded to a mother and son by the front of the café, sitting and staring out the window. "They came about four years ago. Her son was maybe two then. He doesn't seem to mind so much. I think maybe he was too young to remember much else but Sarah…" He trailed off and shook his head. "We worry about her. She left a husband in the outside world. She's never accepted this; fades a little more every year."

"How does something like this even happen?" Sam asked, his mind reeling as he tried to accept the impossibility of what Hal was telling them.

Hal gave a sort of half smile and raised a hand. "My hand to god, it was a Witch. Like, Hansel and Gretel, Wizard of Oz, evil witch." He studied the faces of both men and frowned. Their faces weren't showing the usual surprise or disbelief he was used to. "Why do I get the feeling you two aren't going to argue with me about witches?"

Dean ignored the question and asked his own. "Why would a witch curse your whole town like this? Someone must have really pissed her off."

"More like she pissed off the town." Hal leaned back and crossed his arms. "People started dying. After a while someone figured out it was her. The sheriff and some of the townsfolk went out to confront her and uh…it got messy. She cursed the town as she died."

"Messy." Dean shook his head. "That's one word for it. Dammit." He had the distinct impression Hal wasn't telling them something important. "Ok, the curse thing I get. Time going all hinkey, I get but what is up with the cars?"

"The moment the curse started, every engine in town just…died. We've been reduced to candlelight." Hal snorted softly. "It's practically Amish-land here these days." He looked between the young men sadly. "You boys got names?" Hal asked and smiled. "We're all gonna be getting to know each other real well. Sure help if we knew what to call you."

"I'm Sam. This is my brother, Dean." Sam nodded but didn't smile; there was nothing to smile about that he could see. "Where can we find the sheriff?"

"Sheriff's office but he won't tell you anything different. I'm sorry boys." Hal stood and shrugged. "You're stuck here with us. Best get used to it. Marie's got empty rooms over at the motel. No charge. Money isn't exactly something we worry about anymore. You'll get used to it."

Dean watched him walk away and scowled. "My ass we will. We got a witch to gank, Sammy."

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Dean pulled open the door to the sheriff's station and seriously wished they could drive. "Can't believe we gotta hoof it until we break this damn curse." They had walked the four blocks to the motel to drop off their bags and been given a room by the manager who didn't bother speaking to them; he'd just tossed them a key and went back to whatever he was doing.

"With the crap you eat, you could use the extra exercise," Sam said and ducked the punch Dean threw at him.

"I am not fat, asshole." Dean glared at his brother and then stopped in surprise. The squad room was empty; not one police officer stood or sat at a desk. Candles were lit in various places, camping lanterns hung on the walls and it was eerily quiet. "What the hell now?"

"Hello?" Sam called and nodded as a door across from them opened. An ageing man with a beer gut and bald head came out and shoved wire-rim glasses up the bridge of his nose to stare at them.

"Well hell. Guess we got us some new residents. Come on. Come here." The man waved an arm at them. "I'm Sheriff Brody."

"Where are all the cops?" Dean asked as they walked across the empty bullpen to his office.

"Not much call for cops around here really. You talk to Hal?" Brody asked and smiled when they nodded. "Got the occasional suicide, some poor soul who just can't take it anymore but that's it really. Well, that and missing persons when someone decides to walk out."

"Wait, Hal said we couldn't get out." Sam sat in a chair in front of the sheriff's desk and watched the man's face droop in the flickering light.

"We call it 'walking out' when someone decides to try and cross the barrier." Brody dropped into his chair and sighed. "It aint pretty. It's like there's this…invisible wall out there and you cross it…you can watch someone eaten down to bone in seconds and then they're just gone."

"Son of a bitch," Dean said softly and tried not to picture that. "What can you tell us about this witch?"

The sheriff rolled his eyes. "Dammit Hal. He's just gotta tell everyone like it's juicy gossip."

"Considering you've all been trapped here for ten years with no news, it's probably the only story worth telling anymore," Sam told him and raised his brows. "The witch? Look, we're stuck here too. We deserve to know the truth."

Brody shook his head and leaned back. "She killed some people, cursed them. We kept finding these little bags of herbs and crap."

"Hex bags," Dean said and nodded for him to continue.

"That what they're called? Yeah, well we found 'em, traced them back to her and me and some folk went out to ask her about it…real nice like." Brody gave them a meaningful smile and then shrugged. "All went south from there. She had some serious dark mojo, tossed my men around like sacks of potatoes without even touching them and we had to kill her. She mumbled something, one of the guys said it was Latin and then there was this flash of light and…here we are; trapped."

"You're awful calm about that." Dean watched him and, as with Hal, felt there was something he wasn't saying about that night with the witch.

"Been ten years. Kinda hard to get excited about it anymore." Brody stood and adjusted his uniform. "I got work to do if you boys got what you need."

"Don't you want to know our names?" Sam asked and backed to the door with his brother.

"Hall'll tell me. He always does. Nice meetin' you."

Dean scowled as the sheriff closed his office door on them. "Dude, these people are hiding something."

"Yeah." Sam headed back outside and squinted in the light after being inside with the candlelight. "We should check the library. They wouldn't have stopped things like local news right away, even without power. There could be something there."

"We need to find out where she lived." Dean pointed across the square to the sign for the Bloomwood public library.

They stopped several people as they cut across the square and each one either had nothing to say or repeated the same story they'd already heard as if by rote. Dean was cursing small towns by the time they walked into the library and Sam joined him as they got a look at it; it had been virtually cleaned of books with rows of empty shelves and lit only by the skylight above and a flickering hurricane lamp on a desk.

"Bet this offends your geek sensibilities, doesn't it, Sammy?" Dean asked and chuckled when Sam nodded. He tensed as someone came out between the shelves and then relaxed, seeing it was an elderly woman with long, white hair. She looked up and saw them and startled, dropping the book she was holding.

"Oh my goodness." She clapped a hand over her heart and stared at them.

"Hi. Sorry. We didn't mean to frighten you." Sam gave her a big smile and heard Dean chuckle when she all but melted under the look.

"You and your puppy dog eyes, dude." Dean chuckled and slapped his shoulder.

Sam ignored him. "I'm Sam. This is my brother, Dean. We were uh…looking for old newspapers."

"Oh goodness, there's nothing like that left here now." She started to bend to pick up her book but Sam beat her to it, dodging forward and scooping it up. He handed it back to her with another smile.

"What happened to the library, miss…" Sam trailed off, waiting for her name.

"Beebee." She smirked up at him. "Everyone just calls me Beebee." She looked around at all the empty shelves and shrugged. "People run out of things to read after ten years and returning library books doesn't seem so important after a while."

"But you're still here," Dean pointed out and she laughed softly.

"Once a librarian, I suppose." Beebee shuffled over to a chair and eased down into it. "Not much else for my old bones to do around here. Why did you want the old papers?"

"Well, we were hoping to find out more information about the witch." Sam sat beside her so she didn't have to crane her neck looking up at him. She was eighty if she was a day and he found he liked her kindly, grey eyes.

"I'm sorry my library can't be more help." Beebee said sadly. "You boys need anything while you're…getting settled, you let me know. I'm pretty good at finding things around here." She smiled and stood again. "Now, I need to go get lunch for my grandson. You two take care."

They watched her leave and Dean kicked an empty shelf. "What the hell are they hiding?"

"Guess we just have to keep asking people." Sam stood as well and sighed. "Someone has to know something they're willing to talk about."

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"Dammit, Sammy. It's been like a week and we don't know a damn thing more than we did when we got here!" Dean stomped around the motel room and glared out at the town through the window.

"It's Sam and having a tantrum isn't going to make this any easier." Sam rolled his eyes. He understood Dean's frustration. Every time he looked at his watch out of habit, he wanted to scream seeing 'eleven twenty' staring back at him as if mocking him. The second hand still ticked around but the time refused to move. He'd even adjusted it himself once and then watched in shock as the hands moved themselves back to eleven twenty. The curse, it seemed, was very specific.

"Well I'm open to suggestions." Dean growled and aimed a kick at the foot of the bed.

"Ok, how about Beebee?" Sam asked and looked up at him as Dean stalked past. "She did say 'anything' we need. Maybe she meant it."

"Little old librarian?" Dean stopped and considered. "Well, you did have her wrapped around your finger in under five minutes."

"Shut up." Sam grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. "May as well go ask her now before Hal's wife comes back trying to teach us to knit again."

Dean shuddered. "I am not gonna become old man Amish in this town."

They found Beebee at the library where they'd last seen her. She sat in a rocking chair outside the door reading a book and looked up at them with a smile. "Afternoon boys."

"Hi, Beebee." Sam smiled.

She watched them as they neared; studying the intent looks on their faces and then nodded. "You've got questions for me."

Dean tilted his head as she stood. "You're perceptive."

"For an old lady?" Beebee chuckled. "Inside, away from prying eyes. Wondered how long it'd take you to come back to me." She led them into the empty library and sat beside her desk. "I should tell you, Sheriff Brody is my son and yes, he gave me the same…talking to he gave everyone else ten years ago."

"We knew we weren't getting the whole story." Sam nodded and gave her another smile. "Please tell me you're going to give us the rest?"

Beebee patted Sam's shoulder and smiled up at Dean. "Sit boy. Makes my neck hurt looking up at you."

Dean snorted and pulled over another chair to sit beside them. "Something happened your son doesn't want anyone to know about that wasn't there."

Beebee nodded. "Understand, George is a good man. He always was, still is but what happened that night…" She sighed. "It was an accident but that didn't matter. They did track those weird bags back to Lara. That was her name, the witch. Lara McAvoy. Honestly we should have realized sooner. She was never friendly with anyone. Hell, she was downright threatening if anyone dared trespass on her land." Beebee blinked and rubbed a finger under her eye. "She pretty much stayed home with her son."

"She has a son walking around here somewhere?" Dean asked and sat up, thinking maybe they had found the cause of the curse but Beebee shook her head and he frowned as a tear escaped to track down her cheek.

"Had…a son." Beebee sniffed and wiped away the tear. She smiled her gratitude at both men for staying silent and giving her a moment. "When George and the others went to her, things escalated. She threatened them, they threatened her. Men were hurt and George…he was just trying to save his men when he fired on her." She looked down at her clenched hands. "George fired his gun and it would have killed her but her son…he threw himself in front of her to save her. It killed him."

"Oh god," Sam said softly and met the sad look in his brother's eyes.

Beebee nodded. "George said it was like a…a bomb went off after that. When they got back up, Lara had taken her son into the house and they couldn't get in. It's like the house is sealed off somehow; you can't even break a window. She screamed the curse out to them from inside. Tyler was only nine and the moment he died…it was eleven twenty that night."

"So, she seals up her house and the entire town to punish all of you?" Dean shook his head. "Hasn't anyone tried to talk to her or burn the place down all these years?"

"Of course they have." Beebee rolled her eyes. "People try all the time. Not as often as they used to but they try. She won't even answer. She hasn't spoken to anyone since the day Tyler died." She reached into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out a piece of paper, then handed it to Sam. "This is where she lives. You boys…you know a lot more about this kind of thing than you let on and I think maybe…maybe you're here to help."

"We are now," Dean assured her. "No way we're spending the rest of eternity locked in Smallville. No offense."

Beebee laughed and took Dean's hand, giving it a squeeze. "You get us out of this mess, you can call Bloomwood anything you want, sweetie."

"Thank you, Beebee," Sam said sincerely and leaned over to put a light kiss on her wrinkled cheek.

"Oh go on. Stop making an old woman blush."

Sam chuckled and left her there, following Dean outside. He opened the paper and studied the directions. "This is about a mile outside town."

"Awesome. Let's gear up and go bag us a witch." Dean strode across the square with a renewed sense of energy now they knew the whole story and where to find their quarry.

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The witch's house was an ageing, two story farm house that had clearly not been cared for in ten years or more. Some of the siding hung askew, vines grew in thick swaths up the sides and covered grimy windows while a small sapling had pushed its way up through the porch and was gaining ground over the wooden planks. A circle of blackened earth sat in front of the house and Sam could see what had happened in his head; knowing instinctively that her son had died on that spot. He stepped onto the porch and tried the door while Dean went and banged the butt of his shotgun into a window; neither had any effect. The door wouldn't open and the window stubbornly refused to break.

"Supernatural lockdown. Dammit." Dean punched the window, growling when it didn't even rattle in the frame. "This bitch is pissin' me off." He went to the front door and pounded on it. "Hey BITCH!" Dean shouted and looked up at the second floor with a glare. "We're getting out of this damn town and that means goin' through you! Open the damn door already!"

"Dean!" Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him back a step. "Are you trying to piss her off?" He startled as the front door swung slowly open with a long creak.

Dean chuckled. "Worked, didn't it?" He raised his shotgun and stepped through.

Sam followed shaking his head. "Can't believe that worked." He stopped beside his brother and they both jumped when the door swung shut behind them with a slam. "Ok. You definitely pissed her off."

Dean smirked. His smile turned to a frown as the temperature suddenly dropped and his breath fogged out in front of him. "Uh oh." In front of them a figure swirled into view from the air. She had been young and attractive with long black hair. Her eyes were filled with fury as she glared between them. "Holy shit."

"Uh…Dean?" Sam raised his shotgun to fire and didn't get the chance. He felt a force lift him from his feet, saw his brother rise as well and they both were flung in opposite directions.

Dean hit the wall with a thump and slid to the floor with his head spinning. He blinked his eyes a few times to clear the spots and cursed as the witch's ghost bore down on him. "Shit!" He raised his shotgun and fired rock salt into her. She vanished in an explosion of smoke with a screech. "Sam?" He struggled to his feet, using the wall to get up and staggered across the room to where his brother lay in the remains of a china cabinet.

Sam rolled to his back with a groan. "She's dead?" He said and raised a hand to his brother. He hissed in a breath as Dean pulled him to his feet and held him steady when he swayed. "I thought…they didn't kill her?"

"Locked herself in here ten years ago." Dean brushed Sam's hair away from a bleeding wound high on Sam's temple and grimaced. "Guess no one noticed when she kicked it. You good?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded slowly and stretched, trying to relieve some of pain in his back from his collision with the cabinet. "So, she curses the town, dies, and her ghost is keeping it in place?"

"That's a new one." Dean scowled and looked around the room. "Should have packed for a damn ghost." He glanced back at Sam.

"Kitchen."

"Kitchen," Dean agreed and started cautiously out into the hall from the little parlor.

"There has to be salt in there somewhere." Sam sent a glance up the stairs as they passed. "Her body has to be here too. It's not like they could get in to bury her."

"Dude." Dean waved him over and pointed into a darkened dining room. A child's mummified body was laid out on the table surrounded by long melted pools of candle wax and dried flowers were laid out on his breast.

"This is her son," Sam said softly and went to the table. "Can't really blame her for cursing the town. They did murder her son in front of her." He put a gentle hand on the small shoulder and wished things could have turned out differently for him.

"Yeah well mommy dearest was offing townsfolk before that, dude," Dean reminded him. "She ain't innocent." As if in response, the witch returned with a rage-filled cry. Sam blew her away this time and left the boy's body quickly to search the kitchen across the hall. "I'll find the salt."

"I'll find something flammable." Dean bent to look through the cabinets under the counters, sneezing as the dust swirled up to cloud the air. "Should have locked herself in with a maid."

Sam pulled open the pantry door and groaned, putting his arm over his nose and mouth as dust puffed out around him. Food had rotted on the shelves and gone to dust. He was thankful it no longer stunk as it once must have. He held his breath and started pushing dust covered boxes and cans aside looking for salt.

Dean stood with a grin. "Yahtzee! Lighter fluid." A rattling on the counter drew his head around and he gasped in a breath as several knives rose up into the air. "Sam, look out!" He threw himself over the island beside him as the knives were loosed. He felt a burning pain on his left arm before he tumbled to the floor and then Sam dropped down beside him in a rush.

"You know, you have this effect on women, pissing them off." Sam groaned and sat up. He put a hand to his side and came up with blood. "You've got to find a nicer way to talk to the ghost ladies."

"Bite me." Dean rolled to his knees and checked his arm. "That bitch! I like this jacket!" A long gash ran across the bicep and blood dribbled out through it from a shallow cut to his arm.

"Found the salt." Sam held up the container and grabbed his gun from the floor. "She has to be upstairs."

"Hey, hold up." Dean grabbed him and tugged his shirt up. Sam had a long slice along his right side, deep enough to turn his shirt and the hip of his jeans red but not deep enough, thankfully, to worry him too much. "That looks like it hurts." Dean pulled his shirt back down and poked the skin next to the wound, making Sam hiss and flinch away.

"Knock it off, jerk!" Sam slapped Dean's hand away. "Can you focus for five minutes?"

Dean chuckled and led the way out of the kitchen and to the stairs. "Don't be such a bitch." At the top of the stairs, they turned down the hall and had to duck aside as a table was hurled at them.

"She's wised up," Sam said, holding a hand over his side with the salt container tucked under his arm. "Not showing herself anymore so we can't shoot her."

"I hate when they get wise to us." Dean stuck his head around the corner and nodded, seeing there was no other furniture for her to throw at them.

Sam opened the first door onto a room that had to have been her son's with a small bed and toys scattered across the floor. He shook his head and closed it, moving on. Dean opened the next across the hall and waved Sam over.

"Found her." Dean eased into the room, keeping an eye on the large wardrobe beside the tall window for any sign of movement. The witch, Lara, was laid out atop the large bed. Like her son, she had been mummified with age over a decade in a sealed house; her skin darkened and wizened, clinging to the bones beneath. Her right hand was on her chest and clutched a small green vial.

Sam leaned over her to look more closely at it and sniffed. He straightened and rubbed his nose. "Smells like Almonds." It had been faint but still there. "She poisoned herself with Cyanide."

"Don't feel too sorry for her, tiger." Dean motioned at him and Sam opened the salt container, pouring it out over top of her. "She murdered people, got her son killed trying not to get busted for it and then offed herself and took a whole damn town hostage."

"I know. It's her son I feel sorry for," Sam told him as he emptied the box of salt and tossed it aside. "He never had a choice." Sam stepped back so Dean could douse her in lighter fluid. He felt the temperature in the room drop and shouted as an iron band seemed to close around his chest and picked him up. "Dean!"

Dean turned and ducked as the lamp across the room flew at him. It was followed by every book from the shelf in a shower he couldn't dodge and he grunted as they slapped into his head and shoulders. "Sam!" He looked up in time to watch Sam flung backwards toward the window. Dean reached out and wrapped his hand around his brother's arm as he flew past, catching him as he hit the window and it shattered out behind him. Dean threw all his weight backwards and pulled Sam with him, taking them both to the floor.

"Dude, get off me," Dean groaned as Sam's considerable weight settled on him.

Sam rolled off, thumping into the end of the bed. "Finish it before she kills us."

Dean growled and got back up, ducking a well-aimed vase. He grabbed the lighter fluid and squirted it liberally over the corpse. He went to a knee when Sam grabbed his belt and yanked him to the floor just as a chair crashed into the wall where his head had been.

"Thanks." Dean bounced back up and emptied the bottle then pulled his zippo out, spun the wheel and dropped it to the bed as the flame lit. The witch materialized, stretching pale arms out toward his throat and then was swallowed in flame until she vanished.

"Is it over?" Sam asked, in no hurry to get up. For the moment, he was fine on the floor where he could ignore his side and his aching back.

Dean knelt beside him and nodded. "Bitch is toast." He grinned and looked up at the burning corpse. There was a sudden, deafening concussion to the air and a blast wave of light shot out from her body and expanded through the walls and outside. Dean ducked over his brother, shielding his eyes and raised his head as the light finally faded. "Uh…ok NOW it's over."

Sam chuckled. He raised his left hand looked at his watch. He grinned. "Dude, it's 11:23."

"About damn time!" Dean exclaimed in relief. He bent back to Sam and grabbed an arm. "Come on, Sasquatch. Let's get the hell out of Dodge."

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They limped back into town and stopped to stare. It seemed every resident of Bloomwood was out in the square and all of them looking up at the clock tower in awe and shock as the hands proclaimed the time to be 11:49. Sam saw the mother and son from the café at the back of the crowd. She had her son clutched to her as she too watched the hands moving on the clock.

"Dean." Sam nodded and started toward them with his brother at his side. "Miss?" Sam called as they neared. He smiled when she turned to look at him. "It's over. You and your son can go home now."

"We…we can?" She stared up at them, eyes wide and wrapped her arms more tightly around her son. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, ma'am." Dean nodded and smiled down at the kid. "Shouldn't be any problem now."

She thought for a moment and looked down at her son. "Home," She said softly and looked back up at them with tear-filled eyes. "What will I tell his father? What if he's not even there?" She shook herself. "No, it doesn't matter. We can leave." She seemed to really see them for the first time and gasped. "Oh my…you're hurt."

"We're fine," Dean assured her. "You should get going."

"Boys!" Hal saw them and came jogging over. He eyed them quickly, seeing the dust and the blood and realized that somehow, they were responsible for breaking the curse. He reached them as the woman walked quickly away with her son and put a hand out as Sam swayed. "Hey, easy. You boys look like you need a little patching up."

"We're alright," Sam assured him.

"Ignore him. Yeah we could use a first aid kid, Hal." Dean grinned as Sam rolled his eyes and pulled his brother's arm over his shoulder. "Princess here needs some stitches."

"Dude, you are such an ass," Sam glared at his brother as he was led across the street and into the café.

"I don't know how you did it." Hal went behind the counter and came back out with a red first-aid kit and set it on a table, motioning for Sam to sit. "But you saved us, didn't you? The witch?"

"Gone," Dean said and didn't elaborate. He didn't feel like explaining how she'd killed herself and then haunted the house all those years, holding the curse in place.

Hal nodded and pulled up a chair to sit beside Sam. "Gonna be a while I think before they get tired of watching the clock." He chuckled as he glanced out the window. "Hell I was enjoying it myself."

"Could use some better light here," Dean commented as Sam tugged his shirt up so Dean could see the wound.

"Hang on." Hal rose and went to the far wall and a row of dusty switches. His hand paused for a second and then he reached out, flipping them up. The lights did nothing for a moment, then flickered and one by one glowed to life above them. "Wow."

Dean chuckled. "I got a feeling electric bills are gonna be crazy in this town for a while."

Sam laughed and then hissed as Dean swiped an alcohol pad over the wound. "How many people do you think will actually stay here?"

Hal tore himself away from watching the lights and shrugged. "I don't know. I might leave myself. Ten years of being stuck here…I could use a vacation."

A half-hour later, Hal led them outside and stopped in front of a beat up truck. "I think maybe…I can give you a lift to your car." The townspeople still stood in the square, milling about, talking and watching the clock. Hal climbed into the cab of his truck and turned the keys he'd left in the ignition ten years ago. The engine rattled, coughed and then turned over. There was a rousing cheer from the people outside and suddenly people were running toward various vehicles.

"There's about to be a traffic jam on the road out of here." Sam commented and slid into the cab beside Hal, with Dean pushing in beside him.

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As Hal's truck pulled away, Dean practically danced over to the Impala and ran a hand along the hood with a smile. "You miss me, Baby?"

Sam laughed and followed. He opened his door and folded himself into the seat with a small groan of discomfort and rolled his eyes as Dean got in and caressed the steering wheel before reaching for the keys. "You two want a moment alone?"

"You know you missed her, dude." Dean turned a challenging glance to Sam who, after a moment rolled his eyes and laughed.

"Yes, I missed the car. Can we go now?" Sam settled back in his seat as Dean turned the keys and had to admit the sound of the Impala's engine rumbling to life was comforting.

Dean all but cooed to the dashboard. "That's my baby." He through the car in reverse and backed up as he turned. "We are not gonna drive through weirdville to get out of here."

"No argument from me." Sam rolled his window down to let in the cool, early evening breeze as Dean turned around and started back the way they had first come. "No more short cuts that aren't on the map."

Dean nodded. "Agreed." He jumped in surprise as his phone rang in his pocket and fumbled to get it out. "Wow. I've missed that sound." Sam chuckled as Dean flipped the phone open. "Bobby! You would not believe…what?" Dean paused as he was yelled at and pulled the phone away from his ear in time for Sam to hear Bobby's voice shout 'You idjits!'.

Sam laughed. "I'm guessing he missed us."

"Bobby…Bobby! Would you let me explain?" Dean rolled his eyes and after a moment closed his phone with a laugh. "So, we're going to Bobby's."

"He's never going to believe this." Sam chuckled. "Hell I was there and I'm not sure I believe it."

"I'm starving. You hungry?" Dean looked over with a grin. "We need food. What time is it? Gotta be near dinner." He looked over as Sam raised his hand to look at his watch. "Dude, if you say 11:20 I WILL toss your gigantor ass out of this car."

Sam burst into laughter as they drove down the highway and Dean flicked the radio on, turning the volume up and reveling in the sound and being back on the open road where they belonged.

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_The End._

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: This fic was born of a family joke. I have a watch that, even with the battery dead, I insisted on wearing until it was replaced because I'm used to it; I feel weird without my watch on. So, for several days, for me, the time was always 11:20 and it became a joke when anyone would ask what time it was…"ELEVEN TWENTY!" We would yell out and still do. It's always 11:20!
> 
> Hey, it's hysterical to us and my Mom suggested I immortalize it via writing and what better way than with a little Winchester twist? :D


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